by Scott, S. L.
She chatted with him for a bit early on, but when we pulled out our guitars, he showed his talent. He definitely knows his way around the strings. “Dave, why aren’t you in a band?” I ask.
“Bad past and haven’t found the right band. You guys needing a new guy?”
Tulsa laughs. “We have more guitarists than we know what to do with.”
“I’ve seen you guys play a few times. You’re good.”
Johnny says, “They’re great. It’s time the rest of the world hears The Crow Brothers’ music.”
They start playing a Stevie Ray Vaughn song, and I glance at Hannah. She was starstruck when she first met the guys, but fuck, so was I. A few hours later, her eyes have been stuck on me as if the other guys don’t even exist. I fucking love it. It turns me on to see how much she wants me; her lustful thoughts are felt through the way she touches me with intention and how deep blue her eyes can be.
Johnny transitions from Vaughn to Van Halen, attempting Eddie’s infamous “Eruption” solo. When he starts laughing, he stops playing and pretends to toss his guitar into the fire. “Fuck. I’m too drunk for this.”
I say, “I think we’ve all tried it. Eddie’s a genius. I don’t feel worthy to carry his equipment, much less attempt that solo.”
Tulsa stands and gives it a shot.
Laughing, Tommy says, “That hurts my Van Halen loving heart, man. Stop torturing that song.”
With Dave here tonight, five guitarists are jamming. It’s fucking awesome to shoot the shit and make music with these guys. But this guy earns full respect when he starts the solo and almost makes it to the end before he looks up and realizes we were gawking at him. He shifts in his chair and says, “I’ve practiced a few times.”
I reach my hand forward. We shake, and I say, “That was awesome.”
“Thanks.”
Hannah playfully jabs him. “You should be in a band again. You’re too good not to play.”
“I play. I just don’t get paid.”
Johnny says, “You should get paid. You’re really good. If you’re open to gigs or studio opportunities, I’ll let you know if I hear of anything.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, I heard all I need. I’m happy to recommend you.”
“Thanks, man. I think you just made my life.”
“I haven’t done anything yet, but if I can I will.”
Rivers gives it a go before I mutilate it. We’re all blaming the beer, having too good of a time to care if we nail it or not.
When everyone’s distracted by another song, I lean over to whisper in Hannah’s ear. “What you failed to see is that I crave your sharp edges and chipped corners. I’ll be the glue for you, but I like you how you are.”
A warm caressing hand soothes my cold cheek. “Broken?”
“You’ve never been broken to me.”
“Jet?” It’s not sweet Hannah’s voice, but another person saying my name.
Shit. I know before I even turn back to find out. Looking over Hannah’s head, Marcy is just a few feet away—hands twisting together nervously. Seeing her is sobering. I stand. “What are you doing here?”
The silence of the group is palpable. I want to look at Hannah, to check on her, knowing this has ruined a good night. I don’t, though. I go to Marcy to lead her back out the way she came in through the side gate. But I stop when a guy comes around the corner. What the fuck?
He’s all smarmy smile and too skinny to hold the joint I can smell he’s been smoking. “Fuck, man. You’re hard to track down. Jet Crow. Fuck, you’re a badass.”
I may have had some drinks, but every red flag is flying high over this guy. “Who are you?”
“Oh, damn. Let me introduce myself. Hunter Hix.” He drags his hand down the front of dirty pants before holding it out to me.
There’s no way in fuck I’m touching him unless it’s to throw him out. I look at Marcy. “Did you bring him here?”
“I’m sorry, he—”
“This is my home.”
Rivers comes up behind me. “Why don’t I walk you out? We’ll go back this way.”
Hunter shrugs away from my brother. “I’m not doing any harm. Just talking to another musician, an artiste, like myself.” Looking past me, he acts like he didn’t know Johnny Outlaw would be here. He acts like Marcy didn’t sell my information to him to put on this act like he’s our best friend and not here to see their band.
But when I see him staring, I follow his gaze. It’s not on Johnny like I suspected. It’s on Hannah, who’s frozen in horror with her hand over her mouth and her eyes as wide as the night sky. I’ve seen Hannah wary, I’ve seen her sad, but this? This is pure terror. Who the fuck is he, and what did he do to her?
She begins to shake, so I look at my brother. “Tulsa.” I don’t need to say anything else to him. He heard the command, could see her distress. He grabs her hand and rushes her toward the back door. I push Hunter with my hands on his chest, backing him out of my yard. “Get the fuck out.”
Marcy’s hanging on my arm and crying. “I’m sorry. He made me. He made me.”
Hunter spits, “Get the fuck off me. You’re just as useless as that fucking bitch.”
I stop. “What did you just say?”
“The bitch likes it rough. Likes to be slapped, although I doubt you’d know about that. Frigid cunt.”
When my gaze shifts to Marcy, she tries to grab Hunter’s arm to pull him away from us. Before I can even move, he slaps her so hard across the face that she falls to the ground. “You’ll get more of that later.”
The fuck?
He grunts, “I didn’t get to meet Outlaw.”
Fuck him. Shoving him to the ground, I finally connect some dots. A musician. Hannah’s reaction. He hit her? Slapped her? I’m about to pummel him when my brothers yank me backward. “I’m going to fucking destroy you,” I yell, my voice booming. Anger courses through every muscle in my body, driving me forward to obliterate his punk ass.
I’m grabbed again and pulled backward. It’s not my brothers that keep me back.
It’s Hannah.
She runs in front of me and pushes her hands against my chest. “Jet, don’t. Please. He’s not worth it.”
Everyone surrounds me, but I never take my eyes off him. Hannah whispers, “Please don’t hit him. Think of Alfie—”
I close my eyes, trying to control my breathing and calm down.
Alfie.
Alfie.
Alfie.
When I look into her eyes, I see her secret. I can see how much she cares about me. I say, “He hurt you. He hit you.”
Hunter spits, “Pussy!”
She touches my cheek. “He can’t touch me now, but he can ruin everything for you.”
Marcy’s scream startles us. Her hands are over her mouth, and she crawls toward Hunter. He’s staring up and touching his nose before I realize what has happened.
Standing over him, Johnny cracks his knuckles. “Motherfuckin’ asshole. Get the fuck out of here before we call the cops.”
As Hunter struggles to get up, he shouts, “I’m calling the cops on you for assault. I’ll own that fucking Hollywood mansion of yours when I’m done suing you.”
“I said get the fuck out of here.” Johnny’s anger is palpable.
“I’ll get you for assault—”
“You’ll get him for nothing, Hunter.” Dave steps up out of the shadows. “We have more on you. Hannah barely survived what you did to her in Dallas.” What the fuck? I look at her, and I think it’s only her anger keeping her upright at the moment.
“You’ve got nothing on me, traitor.”
Hannah says, “He has his word, and I’ve got photos.”
“What the fuck does that matter?” Hunter stammers, wriggling his jaw back and forth from the punch.
“Let me fill you in, asshole,” says Tommy. “Scum like you who hit women eventually go down. You stepped onto private property, attacked the owner, smacked around your girl. Co
me near anyone here again, and you’ll be behind bars for a good decade or three. Get. The. Fuck. Out. Now.”
“Fuck you guys. I’m out of here.”
Tulsa shouts, “Stay a stranger.”
Hunter replies with a middle finger in the air just as they round the corner of the house and disappear.
When Johnny turns back to me, he says, “Welcome to the family.”
“And here I was going to welcome you to our brotherhood.”
“An honorary Crow Bro? Cool. I can dig it. Do I get a band shirt?” He knows how to lighten a mood.
Rivers chuckles. “I’ll make sure you get one.”
Everyone starts gathering their stuff, the party clearly over. I look at Hannah, and she says, “We’ll talk about it later, okay?”
I nod, watching her walk away. When Johnny pats me on the back, I say, “You didn’t have to hit him for me.”
“Sure, I did. He can’t touch me, but you and your son, he can.”
“Thank you.” We shake hands and bring it in for a bump. “I mean it. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” He shakes his hand out. “It’s been a while since I’ve been in a fight, and I’m glad it was for a worthy cause because Holliday is going to kick my ass.”
The thought of someone hurting Hannah—physically or emotionally—stirs my anger. “I don’t know if I’ll be able to restrain myself if I see him again.”
“Until the hearing is over, think of your son first. Don’t lose him because you lose control.”
“Wise advice.”
Patting me on the back, he laughs. “We’re taking off, but we’ll see you in LA.” Once we’re inside, we say goodbye to the guys, sending them on their way when an SUV arrives to pick them up.
My brothers hang back a bit on the porch. Leaning against the rail, Rivers asks, “Is she going to be okay?”
“Hannah’s strong.”
Tulsa asks, “How about you?”
“I’ll be fine. Thanks for having my back, little brother.”
“Always.”
Rivers says, “The car’s here.”
I walk them out, and we do our usual handshake and push off before I go back inside. When I shut the door, Hannah’s leaning against the kitchen bar. “Alfie’s still sound asleep. Thank goodness.”
“That is good.” I’m not sure what to say. I don’t want to push her away by demanding something she doesn’t want to tell me. But it was going so well and I’m not ready to let that slip away. “How are you feeling?”
Her fingers tap on the bar with impatience, and she looks down as if time’s up. When her eyes find mine across the room, she says, “I was once crazy. I was the girl everyone loved to hang out with. But you know what happens to crazy girls?”
I move across the room, wanting to be close to her, but giving her the space she needs to vent, confess, or whatever she feels the need to do. “What?”
“They end up alone. Marcy. Me. We’re the same. She just hasn’t realized it yet. She won’t until she’s bleeding in an alley beaten by someone she trusted, by someone she loved.”
Tears she’s been restraining slide down her cheeks, revealing her pain. All this time, her silence has held in the hurt, her words a release that’s long been coming.
“Tell me what happened, Hannah.”
“Will you hate me if I tell you I’m not in the right place? I don’t want to be drinking. I don’t want to be drunk. It makes the memories worse.”
Covering her hands with mine, I stop the tapping beneath my embrace. “You don’t have to tell me tonight, but I’ll be here when you’re ready.”
“Why are you so good to me?”
“I’m just me. If I’m good for you, that’s all I want to be.” And I’ll be here for you forever if you’ll let me.
21
Hannah
I’m not naked but feel bare. Pulling the covers up to my neck, I can’t cover up enough not to feel exposed. Like I see the real Jet Crow, he sees the real me. Alcohol reveals my fears and weakens my strength, but when I feel vulnerable, I don’t mind feeling it with him.
The bedroom door opens, and he says, “I checked on Alfie. He’s still sound asleep.”
“I envy his ability to fall asleep so fast.”
Coming to the side of the bed, Jet flops down next to me. “I’m so tired.”
Looking over at me, he squints his eyes. “You know what I think, Hannah?”
Rolling to my side to face him, I say, “I’m sure you’re going to tell me.”
He laughs, and I love the sound, always finding comfort in his happiness. He says, “I think you’re hiding under all these covers.”
“From what?”
“Me. The conversation we started out there.” He tugs the covers down just enough to expose my shoulder. “The future.”
“That’s a lot of hiding.”
“Sure is, but I don’t want you to hide.” Reaching out, he opens his arms to me, offering himself. I move into the crook of his arm, a place that feels as if he were made for me.
Draping my arm over his middle, I snuggle close, safe in his arms. “Everything you tell me, you mean, don’t you?”
“I do.” The tips of his callused fingers scrape against my upper arm, causing goose bumps to form in their wake. “You don’t trust easily. What happened?”
“I think we’ve had enough heavy tonight, don’t you?” I close my eyes, hoping to hide some more.
“I think our heads are swimming with stories and pain, happiness and fears. I think if you really want to know that, you should talk about what happened because I don’t think you have yet. I think whatever you went through, you’ve tucked deep inside, so tightly bound that when someone gets too close you explode.”
He’s too close. I want to pull away. I want to hide again. I don’t want to talk to him about it . . . but I’ll lose him if I don’t. I’ll scare him away because I’m scared to share. Screw it. “I’m not special, Jet. If I tell you all my secrets, you’ll realize how not special I am, and you’ll have no reason to stay.”
“It’s not your secrets that keep me here.” He sits up and hovers over me. Looking right into my eyes, he says, “It’s your secrets that are pushing me away.”
The way his palm cups my cheeks—possessive but tender—matches his eyes and how they’re set on mine. I’m tempted to open up, but I still struggle. “If I say it out loud, I have to relive it.”
“If you tell your darkest secrets, you release them from your soul.”
“My story is not extraordinary.” I wiggle, trying to find the comfort I felt when I climbed into bed, but I can’t. Suddenly, the sheets are too itchy, the pillow is too lumpy, and his dark eyes too intense. I was cold when I came into the bedroom, but now I’m sweating.
I push him away, needing air, needing a reprieve. My breath comes out harsh, and my throat is dry. The window. I need fresh air. It’s too stifling in here. Too hot. Too damaging to my protective walls. Brick by brick, I built them up. Each day, I laid a new brick on top of a cracked foundation in hopes of making myself stronger.
Jet’s right. I’m not making myself stronger. I’m hiding from the rest of the world, hoping to protect myself from the pain that was trapped inside all along.
It was only a matter of time before my walls came tumbling down. Leave it to this dark-haired knight to destroy them in an effort to save me from myself.
I climb out of bed and open the window. Jet is watching me, taking me in, but not in the way I like. He’s analyzing me, watching me fall apart.
Because I have nothing left to hide, I stand in my panties ready to give him the rest of me. I take a deep breath, ready to give him this last part of me, not because I’m strong, but because I’m tired of being weak.
Holding up the pack of cigarettes on the windowsill, I whisper, “Will you smoke?”
The beauty of Jet Crow is more than skin-deep. He doesn’t ask me why, though I know it’s a strange request I’ve made of him. He just comes
to the window, stands next to me, tugs his T-shirt over his head, and then pulls it over mine. I slip my arms through the sleeves and let the shirt swallow me, finding safety in the way it engulfs me.
How did he know? How does he know I need his comfort? Covering me, protecting me with the shirt off his back.
He takes off his jeans and toes off his socks until he’s standing in his boxers. Sitting down in the chair by the window, he pulls the pane back down but leaves it cracked open. A cigarette is pulled from the pack and lit while his eyes stay on mine. Exhaling, he takes my hand and pulls me to his lap.
“Talk to me, Hannah.”
“I fell in love with the boy across the street.”
His chest rumbles with a growl. “He’s a fucker.”
He’s right. He fucked me and then tossed me away when he found someone else to fuck. “We went to prom together, lost our virginity to each other, and when he landed his first tour, I left college to follow him. I thought we were in love. I thought we were forever.”
Somehow, my breath doesn’t feel as heavy in my chest. I angle around so I can see him, so I can watch him smoke one last time since he’ll want no part of me tomorrow. “We lasted seven cities. Seven. After four years of dating, we lasted less than three weeks on the road.”
“What happened?”
“He hi—” I stop cold in the tracks of where I was headed. Jet would never hit me like my ex, but what if . . . what if he blames me as my father did. Looking into Jet’s soulful eyes, I don’t believe he would. Maybe these things come out in time, releasing them bit by bit so they don’t drag me down with them.
I know one thing for sure. I don’t want this to be the last cigarette I see him smoke. Health wise, yes, but I don’t want this to be the end of us. I don’t want him to realize I’m too much trouble. I like Jet too much for us to end whatever this is between us.
“He what, Hannah?”
Next time, maybe I’ll be ready to tell him the uglier parts. “At first, he cheated. Not shocking. I found him fucking a groupie in Oklahoma City.”
“And that’s when he hit you?”
“Can we not talk about that part tonight? Please.”
